


deep wounds

by poetjasmi (orphan_account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Homesickness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-08 07:23:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11641749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/poetjasmi
Summary: Lance has had shitty birthdays for too long and, even though one good birthday can't erase all the horrible shit, Keith is willing to begin trying.





	deep wounds

**Author's Note:**

> If you're unsure about the underage tag, please check the endnotes!
> 
> This is unedited lol like everything else I write. Please excuse the mistakes and long, arduous phrases. I'm...flowery.
> 
> Also!!! I always try to make it apparent that I don't tag characters that aren't main characters so other characters show up; they just...aren't important in this narrative.

**sixteen-years-old**

Before today, he expected something like balloons when he woke up and strawberry cake in the fridge and his mother at the stove cooking up a storm for breakfast just like when he was in primary school and his siblings would crowd around to give him hugs before rushing him off to the bus. The smells of pancakes and tart fruits together alone would rouse him from his sleep and the whispers between his brother and sister would undoubtedly awaken him before their barging into his bedroom to wake him up with birthday kisses and suffocating hugs did. Their whispers of "We love you so much" and "All your friends will be so jealous when they see you have a ninja turtle backpack before them" would cluster through his head, build his ego and make him say something like "Only the best for your Lance!" to which they would laugh, hug him harder, adjust a stray strand of hair before meaningfully giving him a look that meant more than words could tell and he felt loved, appreciated.

At night, a celebration would greet him when he came through the door with his father in toe. He'd be going on and on about aftercare and how Joey said this or Kristina said that but all would quiet down when his father would point at the kitchen. "Go see what's waiting for you," and there was his family spoiling him the way he loved to be coddled. Warm arms would sweep him up again and this, this here is what he loved about his birthday. The glow of candles in the kitchen and the soft pink tint on everyone's cheeks.

Singing happy birthday was his favorite part. His sister was shy and his brother was completely the opposite, bellowing out the lyrics and making it some grand act to the point that even Lance would roll his eyes. Mom would turn all the lights off, slowly walk the cake over to where he sat and when it was placed before him, he'd somehow _always_ manage to make eyes at his father right across from him who would whisper, "Blow them out. Make a wish."

He'd wish that everything stay this perfect forever.

Now he wakes up, tired, and knows that today will be nothing like those days. For one, his father is several states away. Physically and emotionally, probably smoking a cigarette right at the moment Lance stands in front of his mirror wiping off the exhaustion from his face. Lance figures his father is happy wherever he is, effectively forgetting all the memories they could have made together, and he cannot pretend to be upset.

His father warned this would happen. ("I think it's for the best that I leave. You can always talk to me but I'm messed up and your mother hates me and I just." Lance hadn't seen his father cry like that since his grandfather's funeral. His father was practically swallowing his fist, trying his hardest to stop the quakes from rushing over his body and be strong for a moment longer before he had to get into his heap-of-junk car and stay the night somewhere else, somewhere far. "I think it's for the best, you know?" Voice cracking as a tear finally revealed itself, his father takes him into his arms and holds him. "It's for the best. I wouldn't be doing it if it wasn't for the best."

Lance was stunned, couldn't cry. Couldn't do anything but frown. "I'll keep in touch." His father shakes his head but says nothing further as he plants a kiss in Lance's hair and high-tails it to the car.)

He knows better than to expect a call or a text or a letter. Nothing will come today except the steady silence they have maintained for months now, excluding the weekends Lance makes the effort to ask his brother for a ride to see his father. Just a glimpse to see that he's still alive out here, making the best out of this quiet.

His mother was always spiteful when they came home like she knew exactly what they were up to and it's not like she didn't. Lance would tell her, explain the need and the anxiety that wafted around him whenever he thought about his father. But the resentment was always there.

He gets in the shower and melts into the heat. Stands there for a moment to allow the steam to rise around him and penetrate his pores. He sighs and thinks about wasting the limited amount of time he has to shower on standing there and daydreaming but he knows his body odor is rather foul after work.

He ends up daydreaming regardless. The soap suds collect on his skin, citrus seeping into him as he thinks about the long day ahead of him but he tries to put on his best game face and do this. Even if he isn't going to walk out of the bathroom to two loving siblings but instead an empty house and even if he isn't going to come back home late tonight to the perfect family. 

# ☼

His feet hurt more than life itself and he's nearly dead on his feet but somehow he shuffles from his brother's car through the garage door. When he gets to a chair, he immediately takes his heels off and feels for the blisters and hopes not many have popped. He hisses, however, when his fingertips brush against the pink, raised bumps and the broken skin. His brother hums from where he's watching him, setting grocery bags down and putting food away, "That looks pretty bad."

Lance tosses those heels in a corner. "I should have waited to wear them anyway," but his brother rolls his eyes at him.

"See, I tell you this stuff all the time and you never bother to listen to me, the older one. With the degree."

Lance rubs away at the color on his lips with his sweater sleeves and leans back into the seat cushions. His feet had seen better days as well as those shoes, considering the damage done since he worked like a dog today. Never in his life has he had to deal with so many prissy customers in one day.

He tries hard to let go of today and focus on preparing himself to rest. He watches his brother push foodstuff into the frig and into the pantry before Lance saunters over to the living room to switch on the television.

"Where's mom?" He flips through channels on the television, falling on some cooking show (his brother says it's soothing and he's beginning to see the appeal) before he gets a response.

"She went out. Probably wouldn't come back anytime soon. Said something about visiting the grave site."

Lance nods.

And, yeah, maybe Lance had a horrible day at his retail job and never wants to fold another bra ever again nor does he want to have to pick up whatever underwear some ungrateful lady decided to drop on the floor so he's less than agreeable. And, no, he didn't get to take off for a break and he's quite peckish to the point that eating is so unappealing. He didn't get anything less from his manager except an "I heard it was your birthday. I hope no assholes come in today." Said with a smile and a wink so sincere because lingerie shops are the worst places to be during a sale.

It's beside the point, though. Lance knows his mother is dealing with some shit (namely the divorce that tore _everything_ to shreds. When he goes into the kitchen, it's never the same as the chairs is still the same ones he sat in when his mother told him to sit down, take a deep breath, and wipe away the tears. He knew what she was going to say it. He knew; it wasn't hard when every time she talked about his father, it had something horrid to do with how much she couldn't stand to be near him, the air of disgusting inconsideration he expressed when she wasn't emotionally stable. He sat down, however, and took every one of her apologizes for something she couldn't possibly fix herself.

"Losing your sister was like losing a part of me." She said this so often. So often it played like a broken record on repeat.

"Your father tells me I'm selfish for saying I miss her when I have you but—" She cuts herself off, doesn't continue whatever she's about to say because Lance already knew and she already knew what she was saying was going to hurt them both. _But_ what? he can't help but think. _But I'm not as good as her? But I'm not as smart and daring and successful as her?_ It's all true and he cannot combat himself but it hurts still to stare in his mother's eyes and know that he can never ever live up to the expectations of his dead sister.

Besides, she died years ago, her body found in an officer's seat of a fighter spaceship. Lance buried his grievances when they held the funeral but it's like someone has come to dig all his issues up shovel-full by shovel-full and call him worthless, incomparable, _nothing,_ next to someone he barely knew).

He gives his mother a break though he had expected to come home at eight in the evening to some strawberry shortcake and reruns of an anime he watched in his childhood. Instead, it's same old, same old.

Lance sighs as his stomach grumbles but he ignores the smell of oven-baked pizza and sinks further into the cushions like they can somehow absorb all the frustration and anger he feels.

"Fuck."

His brother snickers. "Yeah, fuck is right." He doesn't even look away from whatever he's doing in the kitchen and Lance is too engrossed in whatever competition is sending the chefs into a cooking frenzy to make eye-contact but he feels that agreeance in his belly. "But, hey, I picked up some vanilla bean ice cream." Lance turns around soon enough to see his brother shoot him a smile and it doesn't make today any more tolerable but it makes the frown on his face lessen. "I just put it in the freezer if you want it."

Lance would ask how his brother found the time to go out to grocery shop between a full-time job and summer online classes and how he managed to get to the store between picking up Lance from his job and how he got such high-quality ice cream but he doesn't ask and his brother doesn't tell. He simply gets up, grabs the whole carton and plants himself cross-legged on the couch and calls it a day. This is his day.

"Thank you for this." Lance almost tears up but he knows that would smudge his mascara and he's not about to mess that up without a fight. 

His brother comes to the couch with a plate of pizza slices and another with strawberry shortcake topped with candles. "I know it's been pretty rough," he combs his fingers through his hair as he says this, "but this is the least I could do for you."

Lance is definitely tearing up so he wipes it away and catches his "waterproof" mascara going to shit. His brother mutes the television and starts singing too loud and too happy and this is good, so good that it's unbearable and Lance is laughing through the tears especially when the rendition is completed with "You look like a monkey and you smell like one too!" before his brother offers the shortcake to him, expression becoming serious and almost nervous. "I made this myself and I'm sorry if it's not the way dad use to make it."

Lance sniffles. "No, anything is fine. I'm sure it's perfect."

His brother smiles. "Then blow them out. Make a wish."

And he wishes that nothing get any worse.

**seventeen-years-old**

Lance makes a lot of mistakes but he figures he learns from the best: his mess of a brother who sits at the bar currently gathering up drinks to bring back to the table and Hunk (his plus-one) who is rambling off about how good Lance looks and his potential at becoming a spaceship pilot. "You've got so many numbers in your head, man. I'm pretty smart but, like, your ease with numbers is remarkable." The compliments are endless especially when he mentions that he slips up silly words in English sometimes or cannot comprehend some topics right off the bat to which Hunk huffs, "Ah, being bilingual isn't a crime. If anything, it's cool!"

He smiles into his water and adjusts the knot on his top, swaying between untying it and keeping it cropped too far away from his belly button; however, Hunk gazes at him and says evenly, "You should keep it that way. It's, um, cute." The decision is solidified by this though the gentle breeze on his navel reminds him of the amount of skin showing and he's self-conscious in a nearly fragile masculinity way that he hasn't felt in a long, long time. Since before dad left.

Arms crossed in front of his belly, he listens to Hunk discuss bioengineering with the rest of the table (a toss up of Lance's friends by default simply because they know his brother) but he's barely listening as he scans the room. Paranoia is thick that maybe, just _maybe_ , he'll see dad here tonight trying to catch his underage son in revealing clothes in a club considering that he texted his father what he was doing tonight when he asked ( _hey! happy birthday, birthday boy! hows it going?_ the text was sent at 10:52 a.m. and seen at 10:54 a.m. and replied to at 10:55 a.m. with a _Thank you, dad. I'm thinking of just going out for some good old fashioned fun with my bro tonight._ An argument ensues about how inappropriate it is for his brother to take Lance to the club in which he worked and how his father is ready to kick someone's ass). But none of that is happening at his impromptu birthday party thrown together simply because he mentioned that he didn't want to come home to the new apartment sober tomorrow.

His father, anyway, wouldn't care that much. No matter how much he tries to reintroduce himself into Lance's life and pretend to play some major role in the life of someone who's just about to fuck off to the Garrison, he wouldn't get the time of day Lance grants to his mother.

He woke up that morning to his brother spooning him and saying something about "Mom sent you a gift and I know you're gonna wanna open all your gifts now." The sarcastic annoyance lingered heavy on his breath. "All I have to say is don't open anything because then I'll have to fight you. Plus, I forgot to buy strawberries and I have to go do that. Now," he groaned as he rolled over to the other side of the bed to get up and get going.

When the annual shortcake was completed, it was presented in a typical way. The song was sung and Lance laughed and hugged his thanks into his brother when the small cake was placed in his lap. "No candles right now because I'm scared you'll start a fire." Lance's smile was so big, it hurt.

He tore through his gifts when he was finally allowed to get his hands on them. Sun earrings and some five dollar D-rated horror film from his brother, a letter with money from his father along with the rest of his extended family which included small candies and books he had mentioned before. When he got to his mother's soft package, he took a moment to hug the wrapping close to his chest.

He tore open the wrapping and gasps along with his brother. "That's _her_ jacket."

Yeah, it was his sister's green jacket that managed to trap her smell of vanilla and apple slices and rain all right in the hood. "This is hers," Lance said as his eyes got glossy and he'd repeatedly touching each bit of it like he'd never before.

He looked for worn seams he knew were there but they were sewn back together and he pressed his fingers against the stitches, concentrating on the image of his sister wearing this in the mornings when she was finally home on break. Lance didn't want to gross cry but it's inevitable as he pressed it to his face and felt her presence there, could practically feel her hair in this jacket and see her picking at the tips of the sleeves so they will be further tattered. He heaved a sob, considered what his sister would say if she saw him that vulnerable with her clothes in his face and he carefully decided that he didn't give a shit.

She's gone and he was not (is not) over it.

"Hey," his brother whispered. "There's a note sticking out of the pocket." He handed it over to Lance, looking mildly uncomfortable with the situation which was understandable. Lance wouldn't want him to cry if he was given an emotionally delicate gift but feelings do what they want and Lance's were all over the place.

He took the note written in pink ink on a torn white sheet of paper.

_Lance,_

_This is your first time away from home without me next to you and it's your first birthday without me seeing you all day. I figured if I couldn't be there, I should get someone to stand in my place._

_She always said she wanted you to have this. Please be careful about the stitches and wash it sparsely. Wear it all the time and know that I love you more than words can describe._

_Happy seventeenth. Do something that makes you happy today._

_Mom_

He carries the note with him in the pocket of _her_ jacket now and he thumbs at the note when his brother comes back with drinks galore. "I got you some hard cream soda. I figured you liked that stuff." He hums and gives his thanks. Thank you for getting him into the club and thank you for picking out his outfit and thank you for promising to get him shitfaced for the first time.

Lance tries to start out slow for the sake of remembering that walking tipsy with heeled boots on, no matter how small the heel, is harder than anything he's ever had to deal with so he can hardly imagine walking drunk. Hunk keeps the flow slow too. Declines shots and reminds their group that they can't make too much of a ruckus because bringing two underage guests into a bar and then giving them drinks? Seems kind of illegal.

But one of the friends grabs Lance and drags him to the dance floor to jokingly grind on him. They laugh because this is exactly how Lance wanted the night to go. To swirl and to be swirled and to giggle innuendos and generally listen to the crappiest sex songs the DJ can muster up. Hands wander to his hips and Lance grabs his friend's neck. It's not particularly cramped on the dance floor and he contributes that to it being a Sunday and the music being mediocre but Lance holds his liquor in one hand and a warm body in another and doesn't care much for how his skin brushes up against another so long as he gets to do it.

"You look really cute today," his friend starts in with soft compliments and Lance has enough hot liquor in his stomach to blush. "Ah, there he goes. Getting cuter." The hands on his waist squeeze and a smile grows.

"I'm always cute," Lance says after taking a sip of his soda. The burn down his throat settles nicely but it feels like a fire is crawling through his body the more he has.

His friend shrugs, "You really are. But today you're extra cute. With these short-shorts," hands slid down a bit to the hem of his shorts to emphasize his next point, "your ass looks even better than usual."

Lance sways to the music, takes in that compliment there but says nothing in favor of smiling and waving over to Hunk who gives him a thumbs up.

"Hey," his friend whispers in his ear, "This guy keeps looking over at you. You should definitely get with that." He twirls Lance around to press Lance's back to his front. "The guy in the corner. He keeps looking you up and down. You should get with that _for sure._ " Lance would laugh at the enthusiasm in his friend's voice but then he makes eye contact with this guy across the room and his eyes are focused so intently on communicating something particular. He brushes his eyes over Lance's body and Lance feels even hotter, the liquor burning in his chest and he needs to peel off his jacket if he doesn't want to pass out from overheating. 

# ☼

They go back to the table. Namely, because Lance is the biggest wimp and because he seriously needed some water and another soda (he asks for a hard root beer this time and gets in without question).

"Hello." Mr. Stranger stands in front of the table, looking at Lance again in his too-cool black t-shirt that's _way_ too tight for such a muscular chest and nicely fitted jeans (that fit his ass right. Lance cannot say he didn't look because, of course, he looked. And it was a grabbable ass). "I'd like to ask you to dance?"

Lance's brother gives him a once over and clearly sends a look that says, "Fuck with him and I'll fuck you up" but he has no real authority over whatever this man does to his little brother and thus sends a look at Lance that says, "He fucks with you and I fuck him up."

Lance graciously smiles and allows for this stranger to drag him over to the floor. 

# ☼

It takes minimal convincing but a few more drinks and sweet talking as well as avoiding his brother before Lance is a giggling mess in the men's restroom with a stranger who introduced himself as Mason and has locked the door behind him. Lance kept talking about his birthday being today and if Mason really liked him he'd do more than compliment him and say what he'd like to do and, instead, do it. Which then turned into crowding Lance against a sink and asking because Mason is a gentleman and knows Lance is young, "Have you ever been kissed?"

"Of course. As if I wear these clothes and don't get kissed," Lance scoffs and pulls Mason in for a chaste kiss.

Mason laughs a bit. "Ah, you're adorable."

Lance beams and goes in for another chaste kiss. His lips are soft and plush against Mason's firmer lips and, before he knows it, Mason has one hand resting on his hip and another in the crook of his neck deepening the kiss with a turn of his head and a tongue licking at Lance's lips. He breaks from Lance though he is chased by Lance who is in a daze so he leans their foreheads together. "I meant like that."

"Um," Lance is red. He wishes he had more alcohol in his system but he's sure he'd pass out if he had any more. "I don't think I have."

"Such a pretty boy like you?" Mason kisses at his neck as he hefts Lance onto the sink (he's thinking in his head, _this is dangerous. God, this is really dangerous. This sink can't handle my weight_ but he quickly forgets when another kiss is planted on his neck). "I think everyone has thought about kissing you at least once."

"I can't disagree with that sentiment," he teases.

The kisses steadily devolve into Mason guiding Lance's legs around his hips and holding him with a hand on his nape to control the speed of the kiss. Lance makes soft sounds and knows he's making a small mistake by letting this guy touch him like this and move his hips so sensuously against his own but he's all for the small mistakes. God can forgive the small ones but it's when Mason finally holds his ass in his hands that he knows that this could get bad quick.

"What are you doing?" He breaks the kiss and grips one of Mason's hands. He offers a smile because of Mason's found-out and guilty expression. "You have to ask for that."

Mason returns the smile and moves his hands back up. "I'd like to fuck you." 

# ☼

Lance's first time shouldn't have been in a bathroom with a stranger (granted, a very attractive one he lucked out on). It was too quick and it stung even if the guy had one of those small packets of pocket lubricant. It was borderline rough and nothing like what he imagined but Lance couldn't say he didn't like being pushed up against a wall and having a tongue shoved up his ass like it was no big deal ("It isn't a big deal. I mean, it's your birthday"). Thumbs pulled his cheeks apart and Mason said before licking into him, "Happy birthday" to which Lance laughed and wished he was an ounce soberer so he could remember every detail of that moment clearly when fingers so unlike his own pulled sound after sound from his throat before he sobbed, "I'm ready. Just do it." And Mason did. Gladly, might he add.

He figures it could have been worse. Being unraveled in a public bathroom by someone so generous was probably the most honorable route.

It was after when he'd already wiped the lubrication and saliva that made him feel so sticky and pulled up his shorts, adjusted his hair and righted his necklace so it faced the right way, that he looked in the mirror and realized exactly what he'd done. And, boy, did he not regret any of it.

Good thing his father didn't care enough about him to stop this.

**eighteen-years-old**

He's alone for this birthday. He does what he does when he's alone and a free day from work: calls his mother and his brother and then mopes around the apartment. He'd masturbate or have some kind of dance party but 1) he can only think about the last time he had sex and the girl asked if he was some kind of metrosexual to which he said he was losing his boner because her homophobia was tangible and either she fuck him with that strap-on like she promised him or he leave (she fucked him but he was irritated the whole time) and 2) he's not in a dance party kind of mood without his brother around.

So he mopes.

And mopes in his sister's jacket and rereads the note from last year and a new note he received today:

_I miss you and I wish I'd done more to preserve us. But wishes are wishes and I hope all of yours come true. Blow all your candles out and make a wish when you get your cake this year. Please have a wonderful day._

_Dad_

In the envelope that the note came from sat a bracelet. Astute but a pretty shade of blue, Lance immediately slides it on, gets into bed and falls asleep dreaming of a better day tomorrow.

Besides, he doesn't know Keith yet. What's a boy to do when he's all alone.

**nineteen-years-old**

Lance wakes up to a sterile room with nothing but a few assorted memorabilia and makeshift beauty products Lance engineered through pure stubbornness. The glow of a distant planet beats against his window and he looks out at the vast, dark blue that fades into black nothingness and figures _just another day._

He crawls out of bed and does his typical routine, tries to remind himself of all the things he has to do today (a plethora of training exercises and staying close to himself because he's still not quite over this view he sees every morning. He knows that he's been in space for months, seen the rise and fall of universes in nanoseconds and touched snow that floats through galaxies and felt relieved when he's awakened to know that this isn't some strange purgatory. He's here. He's real and it's not purgatory, it's hell. Space will never be normal and this whole situation will never be fine. The first birthday spent away from his brother could very well be his last). He washes himself in the shower and contemplates finding something special to do today.

As he sits in the kitchen, Hunk greets him with a soft "Happy birthday," just like he said he would last night when he'd willfully gave him a forehead kiss and said, "I will tell you happy birthday. Whether you like it or not." Hunk blushed, going to bed when Lance shouted out a good night as reply.

Lance says "Good morning," and they smile because this is good. This is exactly what Lance wanted because if it weren't for their phones they brought along (and chargers they made to match their devices) and makeshift calendars they made, they wouldn't know what day it was. Time is arbitrary and, though Lance wants to be celebrated and he wants to be selfish, he's tired more than anything. 

# ☼

Keith comes into his room like he owns the place while Lance sits on the sill of his window, messing with the seams of his jacket. The door whooshes shut behind him, the scent of something almost putrid and sickening taking over the room so that's when Lance looks up to see Keith handling some goo on a plate, courtesy of Hunk Lance supposes. "I brought you some breakfast."

"Yeah?"

Keith sets it down on the nearest surface and sits on Lance's made bed. "Yeah. This was the most I could do for your day."

Lance shrugs. "More than most people did for me back home." And they leave it at that for some time.

Lance loves Keith more than words can describe. Infinitely. As wide as this universe could stretch. God, he loves him and every strand of his hair on his body, the callouses on his hand when they brush against Lance's softness, the way he sometimes cannot speak because the words aren't found. Keith sits on a throne in his mind, beyond superior to any dream he could have concocted and he's blessed every day that he was dragged into a nightmare situation with Keith by his side to reassure him that he is an important asset, that he's worth it, that he's strong and has to stay strong to do good. Keith reminds him that he can do good.

So today is an anomaly. He's numb when Keith stands up to put his arms on Lance's shoulders and look out at what could potentially be their casket. He rests his chin on top of Lance's head, silent still even when Lance holds Keith's hand that's around his neck and breathes in Keith's musk from fighting the simulator. There is no conversation. He has nothing he wants to say, nothing he wants to say to fill up the emptiness that grows in his chest even though he wants to.

He wants to.

But this is hard. 

# ☼

Keith leaves him be for the time being but when nighttime calls (via alarms and the lights in the castle lowering), he is waiting for Lance who is taking a shower and applying a face mask. Refreshed, Lance emerges and finds Keith lying on his pillows with his eyes shut and hands resting on his stomach. Lance hadn't reconciled much in his time alone but he finds it in him to press a kiss to Keith's forehead and think of how patient his partner is, how blessed he is to be given space when he asks for it.

He washes off his face mask and returns to Keith who has opened his eyes at this point and gives him the smallest smile. "Hey."

Lance could cry at this tenderness. "Hey."

Keith opens his arms for Lance to lay on his chest. "I didn't get to spend much time with you today. Think we could do that now?"

Lance is much more absorbed in the clean, laundry smell clinging to Keith. He settles in close to Keith to get perfectly comfortable which isn't hard in Keith's arms with his hair touching Lance's pillowcase and his eyes staring so intently at his face like he matters or something. Opening his eyes, he realizes he had them closed and looks up at Keith. "Of course."

The kiss from earlier is returned in exactly the same spot but on Lance. It makes him warm the way liquor would. The way liquor has.

Silence engulfs them but they both know it gets them nowhere and Keith is fidgeting about something. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About?"

Keith wipes a hand over his face, using it to support his head afterward so he can directly look down at Lance on his chest, he's sure though he has looked away himself to trace the skin of Keith's navel. "Don't make this difficult, please. There's obviously something bothering you. If you're upset with me, I don't have to be here."

"I'm not upset with you."

Keith cards his hand through Lance's hair. Lance is tense. "I can leave and let you have this night all to yourself if you want me to. You don't have to spend tonight with me."

Lance doesn't reply. Just wants him to shut the fuck up, and consider exactly what he's saying in plain ass English. "I'm not upset with you." His voice is terse, forced. He tried to make it gentle because he knows Keith can coil up and tell him he's fine when he's upset with Lance's tone of voice but gentle isn't even a thought when he grits his teeth to combat the tears. "I'm not upset with you so don't try to make me to take my anger out on you."

Keith's hand untangles a curl in his wet locks and he plays with it. It tickles, taking the edge off of what Lance has just said but makes Lance hyper aware of how caring Keith is and how he'd comfort him unknowingly.

"Do you want me to stop talking?"

Lance nods.

It's quiet except for the general hum of the ship.

Lance buries himself further into Keith's chest and whispers, "I miss everyone. My brother is somewhere back home wondering where I am and my mother is having another emotional spiral because she probably thinks I got myself killed. And dad is doing who knows what the hell." Tears slip from his eyes because his stomach hurts. He hasn't even said it yet and it hurts to simply think this thought but he finally says it out loud, what he's been thinking all day: "What if I'm not worth it? All this worrying I think they're doing?"

Keith doesn't say anything but Lance can feel him nodding, understanding. Keeps true to his promise and stays silent. "I'm out here selfishly assuming they care. It's been months and, when I was back home, no one gave a shit about me. Maybe my brother but he can't still be looking for me. He has to be home thinking of something better, I'm sure, like how I wouldn't take up so much space and be such a nuance in his life." He sobs and creates an ugly wet stain on Keith's nice gray shirt and sniffles when he sits up to curl into himself. "I'm dumping all this on you and it's not fair. I'm not fair, Keith."

He hides behind his knees. "I'm so selfish all the time."

It's true. God, he cannot believe how true it is what he has just said. Every moment spent in space, he thinks of how his family might be searching for him, worrying about him while he's here because he figures his family loves him and couldn't take another heartbreak. His mother always wanted him to reconsider the Garrison, think about how he could end up in dead space with no communication, no ship to speak of because a dead ship is not a ship at all. It's a burial ground.

He had selfishly decided not to listen. Arrogantly pointed at all his high school accolades, _as if they meant shit_ when his mother said "I don't want you to go. I want you to come home."

He had cast that aside like she was worrying for no reason, like he was invincible and it's crazy how he kept repeating, "I can't die. I'm me. I'm not _her_ and I wouldn't be her."

And yet?

He's here.

Hardly the same situation but with just about the same amount of consequences:

  1. Where she couldn't go home, he sits on a ship fully capable of conjuring up a wormhole back to Earth. However, for the sake of his family and the fate of a whole planet he can't force Coran and Allura to take him home no matter how many times he has daydreamed about it. No matter how many times he has considered figuring out the machines and doing it himself. He could very well go home but can't because of some obligation to keep fighting whereas his sister was dead in space, a floating carcass in the middle of the biggest death trap ever conceived.
  2. They had both been warned of the dangers. She more than him where he is expected to continue being a paladin for the sake of people he hadn't and will never meet and where she could back out at any time she wanted and it be completely understandable. They both knew from the beginning that if they died, the likelihood of their bodies being buried was nothing. Are nothing.
  3. She got to say goodbye and he didn't. But goodbyes mean nothing when you're this far away.



He's selfish. He's willing to admit that.

"I don't want them to look for me." 

# ☼

Initially, Lance cries harder when Keith gets off the bed without a word and goes into the bathroom to do God knows what and he slumps over into the pillowcase, exhausted and infatuated with Keith's smell that he nearly drifts to sleep. But he feels himself being picked up and carried into the bathroom where the water is rushing into his tub.

Keith sets him on top of the sink and carefully takes bits of Lance's clothes off for him, sometimes stopping when he sees a scar from a battle and he traces it before kissing it and returning to the mission he prescribed himself with.

When Lance is fully naked, Keith takes him back into his arms and sets him in the water, wordless.

Everything he likes about baths is set up right around him. Epsom salt, candles, the bright bathroom lights turned to the max.

Lance waits until Keith follows him in before sinking into the water, boneless yet reluctant to enjoy something this kind when he's still closing himself off after opening every disgusting bit of himself up.

"Can I say something?"

Keith looks both irritated and concerned wrapped up all in one as he lounges against the opposite side of the tub, their legs inevitably brushing against one another, and gives Lance a once over. "I'm never going to tell you how to feel, you already know that. But I will tell you that you always have someone to confide in."

Keith doesn't keep his promises very well. At least, the ones he thinks are stupid.

Lance draws up his knees again and says, "I don't want to talk about it."

So they don't talk about it.

They don't talk about anything. 

# ☼

That night Keith gathers Lance out of the tub against his will because he has such a horrible tendency to sit in the bath until he is horrendously pruny (especially when he's moping) and Keith cleans him with a nice warm towel like Lance is a little kid again. He drains the bath, drags them to bed and they go to their standard position whenever they share a bed: Keith spooning Lance. But instead of facing each other so Lance can play with his hair and softly place a hand on his chest, he faces away.

It's for the best, Lance supposes. 

# ☼

He can't sleep.

He's stuck uncomfortably still against Keith's chest for the fear that he will disrupt Keith's steady breathing and wake him up with his arduous thoughts and loud thinking.

He felt Keith go still and he wanted to turn around, face one of his problems and say something reassuring ("Don't worry that you can't fix me, love. I'm a mess and you have enough on your plate as it so doesn't bother me. It's not your fault I'm this way") like it would fix any of the shit he said. But he couldn't and he wouldn't and he'll say uncomfortably awake like he deserves.

Truthfully, he wants to cry some more. He feels melodramatic for being so homesick. Keith never feels like this, he's sure. He never says anything about it and that's was Lance's initial reason for bottling up his emotions.

But amidst the memory of his previous birthdays, it's hard to sit back and let his anxiety not take hold of him.

Lance sits up. Keith looks at him, stunningly awake. He asks, "What's wrong?"

Lance gets teary eyed for maybe the hundredth time today and cups Keith's chin in his hand. "I ruined what ever it is you had planned for today." He laughs but it's hollow.

Keith shrugs but leans into the touch, bringing his hand up so he could kiss the palm of Lance's hand. "I had nothing really planned. The most we could do is fuck and take a bath," two of Lance's favorite things and they grin, "and we managed to do one even if it was under some tough circumstances." He takes Lance's hand and rubs circles over his knuckles. "Speaking of which, did you get everything out? Is everything okay?"

"No."

Keith nods. "I figured."

Lance whispers, "I'm sorry."

Keith gathers him in his lap where Lance feels suddenly safer than he's felt in a long time. Keith brushes some hair out of his face (bangs are starting to grow and Lance cannot decide whether he finds them cute or adolescent). "Don't apologize for that. I-I obviously haven't been there for you the way you needed me to be." He looks ashamed, burying his face in Lance's neck.

"That's where you're wrong," he turns in Keith's lap to face him. "There's not much you can do to cure homesickness but it's a good thing I have a slice of home right here, amirite?"

Keith comes out of his hiding spot and they share a smile, leaning to touch foreheads. 

# ☼

Keith doesn't let him go to sleep. If he thought crying in front of the potential love of his life meant all the kisses his heart desired, he...doesn't know what he'd do (obviously Lance wouldn't take advantage of Keith emotionally like that and he enjoys the kisses immensely. It's just that he'd rather them be offered in a happier circumstance). Keith kisses him into the mattress, crawls on top of him and reassures him with words and touches that he is important, that he matters, and he isn't selfish for wanting to be wanted.

Lance runs his hands through Keith's hair, gripping it sometimes too hard when a bite is left on his clavicle and when Keith sucks on his neck.

Lance makes minimal noise, too scared to ruin the facade that he's fine and make this moment real with small breathy sounds but Keith says something along the lines of, "I like every noise that comes out of your mouth. Even the stupid pick-up lines."

"Aha! So you finally admit that they work."

Keith supports himself with his hands, doing some strange plank over Lance, and raises his eyebrows. "Honestly, you have the worst one-liners ever. But I love you despite it."

"Even though you just disrespected me, I still want you to kiss me some more."

"Can do."

Keith has a tendency to shove his tongue in Lance's mouth, no plan, no thinking. Only action. He goes with how he feels which can be calculated or messy whereas Lance is generally dainty about his kisses, going slow instead of competitive. Keith tries to overwhelm Lance and goes immediately for everything everywhere which lands Lance's hands right back in Keith's hair, pulling when a sound is coaxed out of him as Keith shoves his knee between Lance's legs and encourages with his hands for Lance to grind down.

He doesn't move his mouth away when he guides his hands under Lance's shirt, playing with the hem before lifting the shirt completely off. When their lips are separated, it is only for a fleeting second before Lance is back on him, wrapping his arms around Keith's neck now.

When they go up for air, Lance murmurs, "You should take off your clothes."

And that wakes Keith up. He sits up, leans back on Lance's thighs and looks down at the mess he's made. "I don't want to push you."

"You aren't." Lance attempts to pull Keith back down but that's a failed attempt.

"Sex wouldn't fix anything."

"It will make me feel better?"

Keith scoffs, "You wouldn't be able to walk properly so how's that?"

Lance blushes but it's all in good fun, he supposes. "I messed up my own birthday plans. Come on." Keith looks away, hard in his pants but resigned to know his place and Lance is frustrated beyond belief. He grows serious. "I know what sex does for me, sweetie. It wouldn't make me feel better in the long run but I'll feel better now?"

Keith wouldn't look at him.

"Look," he says, "I'm not trying to use it as some coping mechanism. Believe me, I've tried in the past," he thinks briefly back to Mason and his few other rendezvous. "I wanted to show you how much you mean to me and, like you said, there aren't many ways to do that here in the middle of space. Except to fuck and take baths. So I'd very much like to fuck you and take another bath if you will."

"Fuck me, huh?"

Lance grabs Keith's dick in his underwear and says, "I'm sitting on this tonight so get ready." 

# ☼

"I'd call you a good cocksucker but I know you get arrogant when I say stuff like that." Keith sits on the edge of the bed with Lance between his knees, only partially undressed while Lance is completely bare with Keith's hand on his neck and another steadying himself on the bed so he doesn't tip over when Lance gets in a particularly good suck. "Like that," he says, holding Lance's hair in his hands. "You can do that again for me, right babe?"

Lance would nod but a mouth full of dick keeps him from doing just that so he flicks his eyes up and does what he's told, licking the underside again. Keith moans in the way he does before he loses it and grabs the back of Lance's head and slowly pushes him until Lance is basically touching the zipper of Keith's pants with his nose. He digs his nails into Keith's thighs and doesn't panic because Keith's cock down his throat is nice, especially when he keeps mumbling that this is so good and Lance is such a good boy, listening to exactly what Keith asks of him and doing it so well, all for him.

When Keith cums, he spills hot and slick on Lance's tongue.

Something makes Lance happy with Keith's soft cock in his mouth and, though he takes it out, he holds it in his hands momentarily and kisses it softly while maintaining eye contact. "Why are you like this?" Keith huffs, out of breath.

"Your dick makes me happy." He kisses the head before moving to straddling Keith. "Am I not supposed to thank it? That would be super rude."

"Sometimes I forget that you're just weird." Keith moves his hands to Lance's waist, rubbing up and down. He lands on his ass and pats it. "Still want to do this?"

"I'm hard as diamonds. Of course, I want to do this. Finger me, you doofus."

Keith rolls his eyes but manages to divert the mood to something more intimate again when he brushes his thumb against Lance's red bottom lip, wiping away leftover cum. "You know you're really handsome?" He kisses where his thumb was and grabs the lubricant on the nightstand. He slicks up his fingers while rubbing at Lance's inner thigh, staying away from the place Lance wants him most. "So handsome and, when you get like this, you're so attractive."

Keith taps his thigh which is the signal for Lance to stick his ass out for Keith's fingers but it turns into that _and_ Lance touching his dick to Keith's flaccid one and enjoying the wet of his saliva drying on Keith's skin.

"Stay still if you want this," Keith says though he grabs him by the hip so Lance doesn't have to decide. He circles Lance's asshole which has the effect of making Lance shiver as the lube is cold and his need to push down is so intense. But he knows better. Keith has already threatened that if he moves without him saying so, he'll tie him up and, as appealing as that thought is, he is looking forward to riding Keith more.

When Keith gets to the second finger and Lance is even more of a mess than he was with his mouth full, Keith says, "Kiss me." With his hand shoved so far up Lance's ass and his other hand biting marks into his skin, it's hard to concentrate on the mouth in front of him and he can only whimper and sometimes needs to break from the kiss and let Keith kiss him all over his face, whispering, "God, you're perfect" to which Lance wants to rebuttal that he's not, he's really not. He's mindless and it's all Keith's fault for making him like this.

"Keith—"

He's quickly cut off when Keith inserts another finger, his eyes fluttering shut to the sensation of this fullness and he hopes Keith can squeeze in another because he wants that and he tries to tell him that but he can't find the words except for his name. "Keith, please."

Keith is too busy with his neck but gets the message, always gets the message somehow (it's probably because, no matter how still he tries to be, he squirms and pushes back on those fingers with each in and out. He craves it, he wants it. Keith will give it to him). He adds another. "You're such a princess," he laughs but it's good natured, almost amazed at how easy it is to make Lance pink in the face and squeezing on his fingers.

"Keith, God—" He's going to cum if this doesn't stop.

Keith pulls out slow, kisses his eyelids, and shushes him. "I've got you, you're okay. I promise you're okay."

Lance opens his eyes and the expression on Keith's face tells him all he needs to know. _I'm all right. Keith's got me._

"Do you still want me to keep my clothes on?" Lance nods as Keith gets comfortable on the pillows. Lance follows, planting his knees around Keith's waist to steady himself. "Do you want me to put on a condom?"

"We still have those?"

Keith smiles. "I may or may not have gotten someone to help me engineer some incredibly thin, flexible polyurethane sheaths should we ever encounter any biohazardous substances we'd be forced to deal with or anything just plain gross. And I managed to get them in the shape of a very, very large finger."

Lance is impressed. "You talked Pidge and Hunk into making you condoms. Wow."

"I know, you have a genius on your hands."

Lance laughs and seriously considers his options. "I think I want it raw."

"Serious?"

Lance teases, "Oh, don't act like you didn't want me to pick that." Keith turns red and Lance is almost upset he didn't make him take off his shirt so he could see the color bleed down his chest but he likes this setup too much to regret it.

"Just shut up again, please. I liked it better when you weren't talking."

Lance stifles a chuckle and, instead, grabs Keith's cock in his hands. It's hard again and dry now from the blowjob earlier so he grabs the lubricant and coats it generously.

"Take it easy, babe," Keith says while Lance slips the head inside and is again reminded that Keith is thick. He's tense as Lance does this, taking his time and slipping onto Keith with a moan. "Do you always run this warm?" Keith asks, seemingly holding his breath.

But Lance hushes him, "I'm concentrating, no talking."

Keith takes that as less than a threat. "But how can I not talk when you're sitting on my cock like this," he says matter-of-factly and moans when Lance bottoms out and sets his hands on Keith's stomach. He breathes in deeply. "Oh God, this is better than I thought."

"So you've thought about this?"

Keith just mutters, "Shut up and ride my dick."

This is good. The hands on his thighs, the thrusts of Keith's hips to meet his. It's good, it's all good especially when Keith calls him sweet names like babe and princess and slut and he likes this more than he initially thought he would when they first began. Sure, fucking can't solve his problems but it can make him forget them momentarily and make him remember the drag of Keith's clothes against his skin while he feels Keith up under his shirt.

If there is one thing he likes most about this is the fact that he can lean forward and kiss Keith open mouthed because they cannot keep from making noises into each other's mouths; Lance because this is all too good and Keith because he can't shut the fuck up and stop giving compliments.

"You look so pretty like this."

"Keith," Lance says though the words are hard to find when he's occupied with the drag of Keith's skin inside him, "I really want you to flip me over and fuck me." Maybe that will shut him up.

Keith does as he's requested ("Since you asked so nicely") and finishes them both off rough and dirty and without shutting up ("Your ass fits so nicely in my hands" and "I wish I could fuck you forever"). The fabric of Keith's jeans rub against Lance's thighs and is probably going to cause chafing but Lance will savor those marks when he's in another slump and needs to remember that someone is willing to fulfill his wants and needs.

Lance finishes on Keith's chest so he refrains from collapsing forward and figures he has enough stamina to hold himself up until it's wiped off. He reaches for his shirt that landed on his alarm clock (the time is a nice 12:14 a.m. on a July 29th).

"Happy birthday to me," he sings.

"Happy birthday to you," Keith sits up while Lance pulls off his soft cock and kisses Lance, distracting him from his mission to clean up. "I love you, baby."

"I love you too." 

# ☼

Getting in the bath again was probably a bad idea. Keith only wanted to make sure all the cum in Lance's ass got out but, of course, Keith is always right: Lance is a slut. "Bend over a little more?"

"Keith, if I bend over any more, my head goes underwater and you know I'm kinky but I'm not 'willing to drown so my boyfriend can fist me at a deeper angle' kinky, okay?" Keith laughs behind him, pressing his face into an asscheek because it's that hilarious when Lance is irritated while a hand is up his ass. "Hey, hey! Less laughing and more hand action. I'm pretty confused as to why I can talk—"

Keith decides to focus his aim exactly where he knows it will shut Lance up and laughs again when he makes a strangled sound before whining that Keith is going so slow. "I honestly don't know how you're talking either. It's probably because you can never shut up." He drags out his hand slowly and uses his other hand to control the grind of Lance's hips. "I bet you wouldn't be quiet even if I gagged you."

"As if you really would gag me," he bites out when Keith slides his hand back in, slow, so slow. It's achingly slow and has Lance wanting to shout. Lance looks over his shoulder. "You like my voice too much."

Keith spreads his fingers as much as he can and watches Lance close his eyes, mouth open and a gasp falling out. "Hm?"

" _Keith_ —"

"Yes, baby?" He takes it out slow again and goes to mouth at Lance's right cheek while moving his other hand to squeeze the other cheek firmly. His teeth chew into him and it feels like it's going to leave a nice impression.

Lance can't concentrate properly and, instead, tries to move with the hand to get it to go faster.

When he looks back over his shoulder again, he sees that Keith looks too pleased with himself and the sounds he's managed to get Lance to make. He'll wring Lance dry of every moan and every seductive word he says under his breath. "I guess I don't have to gag you after all."

"How would you even manage?" Lance snarks back.

Keith narrows his eyes. Takes his hand out of Lance which makes Lance nearly cry. He's _so_ close. That was doing good things for him.

But Keith is less than happy (though his dick definitely tells a different story) and he forces them both to stand up and has Lance bend over against the wall. He crowds him, his front to Lance's back "Do you want my hand again or my dick?"

That's honestly the toughest question he's ever been asked but he goes for the obvious.

Keith nods and uses his hand to cover Lance's mouth before proceeding to fuck him again.

Lance kind of wishes he hadn't pushed Keith to the edge so he could rile him up with words again but Keith beats him to it. He takes Lance's hand and guides it to his stomach. "Do you feel that?" He thrust in and Lance can feel a bulge there in his stomach. It's gross but it also has him banging his head against the wall. He's lost his composure and wants to scream but he can't because Keith muffled him, shoving his fingers in Lance's mouth to play with his tongue.

Lance feels obliterated, overheated, and, by the time they finish and Keith pulls out all wet and messy again so they have to start the whole cleaning process over again, Lance is falling against the wall.

His legs are shaky to the point that Keith has to carry him.

He thinks, _this is so good._

He's quiet for the rest of the bath. 

# ☼

When they finally fall asleep, Lance cuddles Keith close to his chest and dreams about how this birthday, he wouldn't be left behind. He has Keith now and that's more than he could ask for.

**Author's Note:**

> A note on the tags: This fic is tagged underage and, honestly? I did that out of courtesy because Lance is 16 when he has sex and, in the States, the age of consent varies from 12 to 18 and that's saying 12 being the minimum with some kind of prosecution and 18 being all sexual intercourse is a-okay. So, take that as you will.
> 
> Ways to stay posted (aha, this is my self-promo. I cannot waste it): check out my [public twitter](https://twitter.com/poetjasmi). That's all about good vibes and poetry and writing and generally supposed to be my happy place. I have two (2) tumblrs. The [fandom one/writing one](http://rebelrumi.tumblr.com/) and my ["normal one"](http://poetjasmi.tumblr.com). Uh, so yeah. Take that as you shall. I have a patreon (username is poetjami). Search me up and get chapters/fics before everyone else does.


End file.
